


A New Neighbor

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff, General, Humor, M/M, Moving, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My name’s Blaine." The stranger—or Blaine, apparently—looks over at him. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors." This time, Blaine’s the one who winces.</p><p>"Well then, neighbor," Kurt stresses the word around his smile. “I’m Kurt."</p><p>"Kurt from the fifth floor," Blaine says.</p><p>"Blaine from the third floor."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Neighbor

Kurt has a love-hate relationship with moving.

He loves it, because it means a new space that he gets to decorate and make his own all over again. It normally means better water pressure, a bigger kitchen, and a closet that can almost hold his entire winter wardrobe. It’s the chance to donate things he hasn’t worn in years (and that he can’t believe he ever wore,  _ever_ ) and to reorganize his pots and pans, because it is literally impossible to keep them from becoming a big pile of disaster. It’s a fresh start, and Kurt Hummel loves a good, clean, fresh start.

But he really, really hates moving.

Moving in New York is chaotic. It had been his very first time, learning to navigate dorms and stairwells and flurries of over-excited and nervous freshman while also dealing with his dad throwing out his back. It had been hectic and crazy and Kurt had ended up yelling at so many people that it gave him a bit of a reputation with the people on his floor and in his building.

The second time had been easier. Moving into his shared apartment with Rachel didn’t involve hoards of erratic teenagers and their parents all trying to use the same elevator at once, and he’d actual had the foresight to not put all of his shoes into the same box.

But he’s moving out on his own, and the problem is that he has  _things_  now. Not just his wardrobe and a few decorative pieces from home; Kurt has furniture, and dishes, and appliances. He has too much  _stuff_  and, while movers are all well and good, he can only afford so much. The money he can spare goes to getting his furniture moved to his new place, and that’s it. The rest of his belongings need to be strategically packed into the back of a moving truck.

Which brings him to now.

Standing outside his new apartment building, hands on his hips, and frowning up at where his apartment is waiting for him on the fifth floor while wishing he’d made better friends in college—friends who didn’t call the morning they’d promised to help him move with sudden, flimsy excuses as to why they couldn’t. Thankfully, it doesn’t leave him completely stranded, but Finn and Rachel aren’t exactly the moving force Kurt had prepared for and expected.

"Remember," he begins, turning to where Rachel and Finn are climbing out of the truck, “Someone stays with the truck at all times. If a single thing gets stolen, I am holding both of you personally responsible. Do I make myself clear?"

"You are  _so_  dramatic," Rachel responds with a roll of her eyes, while Finn just stands there and nods like he’s terrified. Which he has every right to be. Even Rachel knows that Kurt is being perfectly serious.

Kurt grabs his bag and then a duffle—no point in wasting a trip—while Finn grabs two boxes and follows him to the apartment. Kurt can already tell that Rachel will somehow always end up either guarding the truck or making sure someone doesn’t steal anything from Kurt’s unlocked apartment.

At least when he’d been moving into the dorms, there hadn’t been such a high probability of theft.

He props the outer door open and is thankful for the hundredth time that his new building has an elevator that  _works_. Walking four flights of stairs daily will be excellent for his ass in the long run, he’s sure, but when it comes to moving his entire life in the form of boxes, an elevator is incredibly convenient.

The building itself is nicer in general than the last two places he’d lived; it lacks the stark, uniform whitewash of the dorms and that ugly paisley that had wallpapered the halls of his and Rachel’s apartment building. It’s not exactly uptown, but all exposed brick and wood paneling and wrought iron fixtures—Kurt had fallen in love with the building before he’d even seen his new one bedroom apartment.

Finn grunts beside him as the elevator  _dings_  on the fifth floor.

"What do you have in here anyways?" He asks, shuffling the boxes. Kurt peers over at them, eyebrows raised, before he dismissively says, “shoes."

It’s not exactly a short walk from the elevator, but Kurt knows he’ll prefer that every other day besides moving day. Distance from the elevator means less foot traffic, which means less noise, and anything that means less noise in New York is a blessing.

Finn lets out a low whistle of appreciation as Kurt unlocks his door with a flourish, and he can’t stop the giddy little giggle that escapes him as he waltzes into the room. He has a hard time stopping himself from waxing poetic about the breakfast bar or petting the base boards or crying over the crown molding.

"I know," he says instead, voice flooded with affection; it should feel strange, maybe, that he’s already so attached to a place he’s hardly been in three times—but he is.

"I’ll head down to get the next load," Finn says after a minute, and he’s gone before Kurt can even explain that Rachel is supposed to come up next. He sighs, rolling his eyes, and then just smiles; it’s moving day and, as horrible as it will probably be in it’s entirety, Kurt is in his new apartment and a new beginning is stretched in front of him. 

*

"Have you even been upstairs?" Kurt asks, wiping at his brow and thankful he wore moving-appropriate clothing. Not that it makes how sweaty he is remotely better.

"Of course," Rachel bristles, leaning against the truck and crossing her arms. Kurt rolls his eyes, but he’s not really in the mood to argue with her; after all, someone needs to watch the truck. He pulls out a stack of two boxes, grunting with the effort, and Rachel stands up quickly and hovers as he tips around a bit. “Maybe you should—"

"It’s fine, Rachel," he bites out. “I’m fine. I’ve got it." And he does. He was just a little off balance. He glances at the label on the top box and sighs—of course it would be his dishware. He sends her another smile-turned-grimace before he heads carefully up the stoop and through the open door. He hears the bing of the elevator and feels a sudden whoosh of thankfulness.

"Hold the elevator!" He calls, hoping that whoever is inside of it hears him. But seeing as he doesn’t run into the doors, they must have. “Thank you," he says, breathlessly, in passing, and then slumps against the wall of the elevator, balancing the bottom box on his thighs.

"Do you need any help?"

Kurt peers around his stack of boxes to see the man who had been kind enough to hold the elevator door for him; he’s still standing there, dressed in a pair darkwashed highwaters and a cardigan-polo combination that shouldn’t look as good as it does. He’s staring at Kurt hesitantly from beneath mile-long eyelashes that Kurt has the sudden urge to run his fingertip against.

"Oh, no, I’ve got it," Kurt says quickly, disappearing back behind his boxes once he realizes he’s been staring a few moments too long at the gorgeous, courteous stranger while looking like he’s just ran a marathon.  _So not attractive_. “Thank you, though."

There’s a soft hum of contemplation, and then, a few moments later, the swish of the elevator doors sliding closed. Kurt slumps against the cool, metal wall, thankful that he won’t have to try and charm a cute (and hopefully gay) neighbor while coated with far too much sweat.

"I think I’ll have to insist, then."

Kurt straightens so quickly that the box on the top wobbles precariously, only for it to be slipped off the stack (Kurt’s back nearly  _sings_  in relief) and into the cardigan-clad arms of the handsome stranger. Kurt stares at him, eyes wide, as the man sags under the weight of the box and blushes, before straightening up and smiling at Kurt. Sweaty, moving-clothes-clad Kurt.

"Um." Kurt cringes.  _Way to be eloquent_. “Thank you, but you really didn’t—"

"I know," the man smiles back. “What’s your number?"

Kurt blinks in surprise.

"Excuse me?" There is  _no way_  this guy just asked for his number.

The man’s mouth falls open and he gapes, immediately blushing. The box shifts in his arms and he stares down at it intently, not meeting Kurt’s gaze.

"Floor… Number. Is what I meant. For the elevator."

 _Oh_. Kurt looks over at the neat rows of clear, circular buttons; he hadn’t pressed his coming in.

"Right," Kurt breathes. Of course. He’d been being silly.

"Right…" The man replies awkwardly, still not looking at Kurt. He shouldn’t feel bad—after all, this stranger is the one who  _said_  it—but he can’t help feeling like he’s the one who made everything uncomfortable.

"Five," Kurt finally supplies, after clearing his throat. The man nods, pressing the button.

"I live on three." He looks back over at Kurt sheepishly. “I can’t imagine climbing all those stairs every day. These elevators are out of order more often than they’re working."

"Of course they are," Kurt comments dryly. Well, at least they appear to be working on the day he needs them to be. Hopefully that luck holds true for grocery days, too. “Stairs aren’t a problem. Besides, it means I can drink a third cup of coffee in the mornings."

If Kurt didn’t know better, he’d swear the strangers eyes sweep over him.

"So I guess that makes us neighbors, then," the stranger says. It does, in a way. It’s not like he lives across the hall from Kurt or anything, but they do live in the same building. Maybe they’ll run into each other in the stairwell or at the mailboxes in the lobby and Kurt will not be dressed in his worst jeans and a  _t-shirt_ , for god’s sake.

"Guess so."

This is the most awkward conversation Kurt has possibly ever had.

"I’d shake your hand…" the stranger says, his voice hesitant as if he can sense the tension in the elevator, “but…" He glances pointedly at the box and Kurt can’t help but smile.

"I appreciate your concern for my dishes."

"Dishes," the stranger says, staring at the box. “Well, that explains things."

 _Like the fact that it’s a lot heavier than you thought it would be_ , Kurt thinks, biting down on his grin.

"My name’s Blaine." The stranger—or Blaine, apparently—looks over at him. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors." This time, Blaine’s the one who winces.

"Well then,  _neighbor_ ," Kurt stresses the word around his smile. “I’m Kurt."

"Kurt from the fifth floor," Blaine says.

"Blaine from the third floor," Kurt intones in the same manner, and Blaine laughs, realizing how ridiculous he must have sounded (it was actually a little adorable). The elevator dings and the doors slide open; Blaine inclines his head, as if to say  _you first_ , and Kurt inclines his head back, as if to say  _why thank you_.

"I probably should have warned you that I live all the way at the end of the hall." Kurt shifts the box in his arms and glances over at Blaine. “Before you decided to be a good samaritan."

"I’m always a good samaritan," Blaine responds, the lilt in his voice slightly defensive.

"Careful. I vaguely know where you live. I might abuse that."

 _I’m wearing tennis shoes and a t-shirt, I really need to stop flirting_.

Kurt resists the urge to groan and then steps through his open door. He doesn’t expect Blaine to be impressed—chances are they have the same exact apartment—so rather than trying to play the role of proud host, he simply leads Blaine straight to where his kitchen table had already been assembled by the movers.

Blaine does, however, let out a low whistle as he looks around.

"You’ve been at this for awhile, huh?" He slips the box onto the table while Kurt sets his on the counter.

"Not really. I’m just a really good micromanager," Kurt comments breezily while simultaneously chastising himself. Because micromanaging is definitely a trait that other people look for in possible dates.

 _Stop thinking about dating_.

"Hey Kurt, did you—uh." Finn stops in the entryway to the kitchen, blinking at Blaine and then at Kurt.

"There’s not a lot left," Kurt cuts in quickly, before things can get  _really_  awkward. Finn has proven, time and time again, how completely embarrassing he can be whenever Kurt is around a male he isn’t related to. “But send Rachel this time! She hasn’t done anything!" He calls as Finn moves quickly—Kurt’s wrath is generally a good deterrent to Finn’s curiosity.

"Girlfriend?" Blaine asks, and Kurt blanches.

"Best friend," he corrects, glancing down at himself—the way his charcoal shirt is clinging to him where he’s been sweating too much and how his skin has pickened from exertion ( _fantastic_ )—and then decides  _the hell with it_. “Not really my type."

Kurt really hopes that Blaine can deduce enough from that—there are only so many ways to say, “No, I’m gay," without actually saying it. And Kurt has no intention of doing something mortifying, like mentioning  _equipment_.

Blaine perks up, eyebrows raised in interest, and then he glances at the way Finn went and—

"Step brother," Kurt clarifies, before Blaine can ask.

"Ah." Blaine stands there and nods, and Kurt realizes how awkward this must be now that he no longer has an excuse to be there; Kurt’s dishes are safely delivered. “Just them?" He hedges, sounding so casual and nonchalant that it’s near obvious how forced it is.

"Yes," Kurt sighs, rubbing at the tightness gathering in the back of his neck from all the box-carrying. “I had a whole team of friends who promised to help, but they all canceled on me last minute. You know how friends are." Kurt almost says  _friends_  again just to emphasize it.

Blaine just nods again, eyes darting around unsurely before they finally rest on Kurt.

"Well, then… I’d love to help. If. You’d like help." Blaine is already shrugging out of his cardigan and  _oh my god arms_.

"Weren’t you… Going somewhere?" Kurt asks, trying not to stare, but he’s trying to rectify the clothed image of Blaine’s arms to the now exposed skin bulging out of Blaine’s polo sleeves.

"What? Oh." Blaine takes his phone out of his back pocket, fires off a text, and then slips it back into his pocket. “Now I’m not. I’m all yours."

 _Okay_.

It has been way too long since Kurt has been on a date.

"That’s… Really nice of you. Thanks." Kurt smiles, although it turns slightly confused when Blaine just stares at him and blinks in return. "…Blaine?"

"S-sorry, yeah. It’s not a problem, really."

Kurt wonders if he imagines the way Blaine stresses the word  _really_.

"Still, you should let me make it up to you." Apparently, he’s breaking his  _don’t flirt while wearing sweaty clothing_  rule.

Blaine looks to be baffled by the suggestion.

"You don’t—"

"I was thinking dinner." Kurt nearly slaps a hand over his mouth, and Blaine falls silent. “I-I mean, I just moved in, and I—I haven’t used the kitchen yet. Obviously. I just moved in. But I love to cook. I’d even say I’m a good cook. And you’re being really nice, offering to help someone you don’t even know, and it’s not like it’s a date—I mean, I don’t want to assume, you’re, I don’t really know you, and—" Kurt groans and drops his face into his hands.

This is why it’s been so long since Kurt has been on a date.

There’s a soft, hesitant touch to his shoulder and Kurt snaps his head up—almost hitting Blaine in the face in the process. Because, okay,  _woah_ , Blaine is  _right there_.

"Kurt," he says quietly, and Kurt can see the small smile playing at his lips. “That sounds great."

"Really?"  _Really?_

Blaine just smiles a bit more, and nods, and if they hadn’t just met less than fifteen minutes ago Kurt would absolutely think about kissing him.

Well, he  _is_  thinking about it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to do it.

"I can’t believe you told Finn to send me up here!"

They draw away from each other and Kurt sighs in annoyance, watching as Rachel enters the kitchen with a box.

"You know perfectly well that I am much better at managing tasks than the actual heavy lifting. What if I’d injured myself? I have dance rehearsal tomorrow and if I am going get my big break, then I need to be at my absolute best and while I can absolutely perform a pirouette with a sprained ankle, I—"

"Rachel. You carried up a box of dish towels and silverware."

"That doesn’t mean there couldn’t have—Oh, hello." Rachel’s eyes finally land on Blaine, and then they bounce back and forth between him and Kurt as if she’s watching a tennis match. “Kurt." Her voice takes on that sweetly annoying tone that means she’s about to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. “Who’s this?"

Kurt’s jaw clenches and he’s about to tell Rachel to  _back off_ , when he catches Blaine’s amused and sparkling eyes over Rachel’s shoulder.

"This is Blaine," Kurt says simply, and then smiles. “He’s my new neighbor."


End file.
